Today we Rest, Tomorrow we Conquer
by NineStoicCrayolas
Summary: Reyna Cybele Black did everything she could for her brothers. She wondered, if maybe one day, they would see that too. [Warnings include: rape, abuse, cussing (is that even a warning?) dark stuff. Not all the time, every minute of the day, but hey, it's there. It might trigger someone. Y'all should know.]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter

 **Status:** Incomplete

 **A/N:** This isn't going to be canon-compliant, cos let's face it y'all, this little girl's existence fucks 'most everything up.

* * *

When a child is born, there are several universal truths that one might have to come to accept. One being that the child might not come out exactly as the parent wanted it to be. Another being that perhaps, the parent was not ready to have a child in the first place. Maybe, even going so far as to be distasteful of said progeny, to the point where even associating with them made the parent nauseous.

Now under any other type of circumstance, if a child was born with its own parents hating it, it would have probably developed a plethora of unwanted, unneeded and cumbersome childhood trauma, psychological issues and so forth that would have impeded their ability to function at full capacity, not to mention, even _dream_ of reaching their full, unadulterated potential.

However, Orion and Walburga Black had never loved each other, not even for a short, delusional second, and so, they were crushed when they were told they had to marry. Orion because he was madly in love with his Potioneering, avoiding each and every human interaction when possible because, well, he didn't _need_ people—not if he wasn't using them or manipulating them for his own benefit. Well, no...he did need people, but not in the way that most thought, not in the way he knew Walburga needed them. He needed them because he knew that if one got too entrenched within one's mind, well, nothing good ever came from that.

Walburga loathed Orion with a single-minded passion that curled around her heart so tightly it hardly allowed her to breathe. She'd never loved anyone, was sure she'd never love anyone, but ending up with _Orion Black_ was just _asking_ her to die of old-age and chronic anger problems. There was something about that man that made her curl her lip and want to spit out very _unladylike_ things, as her mother would have once said. He made her sick to her stomach.

She married him in the fall, her lips pursed, eyes angry.

At least, she thought faintly as the ceremony came to an ending, he was ridiculously handsome.

(Some people even said that he was prettier than _her_ but Walburga ignored them.)

The night of the wedding was awkward and fumbling, and she was sure that some curses had escaped her as they fulfilled their duty. In the privacy of her mind, she swore that if it turned out to be a boy, as her father had ordered, then there was no _way in hell_ Walburga was letting that man touch her ever again.

For his part, Orion was desperately thinking of a River Whore he'd once seen on the side of the Thames.

They'd done it once, and then twice, just to be sure and then settled in for the wait.

The conception of Reyna Cybele Black was an immaculate one, and nothing went wrong with the pregnancy, until, of course, St. Mungo's decided to inform them that they were having a wonderful little girl, and weren't they just so delighted?

Walburga was _not_ delighted, thank you very much.

No, she was furious. She'd slept with—no, no point in glamorizing it; she'd _fucked_ —a man who she felt nothing for, a man whom she loathed (for no particular reason, mind you, but it was still valid in the sanctity of her mind) and Morgana had _dared_ to bless her with a _girl._

Her father had been furious.

Orion's parents, while upset it hadn't been a boy—they'd warned him not to end up like _Cygnus and Druella_ with little Bella and 'Dromeda—were cautiously delighted that they'd have a little girl to spoil and mummy.

It had all changed, of course, when the patriarch had declared that they would have to pay the infraction twice fold. For every girl you shame us with, two boys must be born, Sirius Black had uttered calmly, and dread had crept over Orion's frame, coiling low in his throat. Walburga had been _spitting_ mad, her shoulders drawn up like a prissy cat and Orion nearly had to contain her with charms when she'd bellowed her anger.

The Patriarch merely arched a cool eyebrow, disdain spilling from his lips as he waved away his wife's dramatics. "If you do not wish to raise the child, get rid of it."

For the first time in Orion's twenty-one years of life, he had felt sharp and poignant fear ripping into him at the sight of the contemplating gleam in his wife's eyes. And for the first time, he'd stood, anger rippling through his face as he glowered down at Walburga. She was selfish and cruel and vain, but she would _not_ take his child.

"No." His voice echoed throughout their living room. "We will keep the girl. Blacks do not get rid of their own."

There was a murmur of agreement, despite the rage that flickered in his wife's eyes, and his parents looked on approvingly. That little girl was his _daughter_. No one was going to get rid of her, not while he was around to stop it.

His hands were still trembling as he sat down.

They fought often after that. Walburga was vicious in her anger, burning and ever-lasting, always wrathful. Orion had no doubt she could hold her grudges for a thousand years. At first, she did everything she could to get the child to abort naturally. She used complex, dark spells, ate cheese and drank warm milk, and once, when she thought he wasn't looking she'd tried to smoke a cigar. He'd knocked it out of her hands, his anger startling her.

"You will not take her from me," He'd hissed, months of pent up rage making him cruel and brutal as he held his wife at wand-point. "If you will not acknowledge her as your child, she will be mine. The others—well, they will be yours."

" _Fuck you,"_ She'd spat in his face, after the flicker of surprise had washed from her eyes, and the anger returned, brighter and stronger than ever.

"Already have," He sneered back. Her dark, seductive eyes lit up with fury and he continued further, breaking the nonexistent bond between them to smithereens. "Can't say I enjoyed it much."

 _(In another life, it had been a boy, a beautiful, bouncing boy that came first. And in the face of their delight, Walburga had slowly, carefully, allowed herself to place trust in her husband, until they loved each other quietly, refined in dignity, until the day they died._

 _This was not that life.)_

She cursed him after that and well, they'd had to spend the day out of the room while Kreacher and Lorc cleaned everything up and put it back to new. They spent months avoiding each other; Orion working at the Ministry, Walburga seething in their ancestral home, occasionally leaving the sitting room to take High Tea with Druella and her father, who congratulated her on her healthy (she shook with fury whenever she heard _that word)_ baby and her cordial, amicable relationship with Orion.

There were days, sometimes, that Orion wished it were the males who carried their children because he missed being able to place his hand on his wife's stomach and wait to feel a flicker of movement.

There were days, sometimes, that Walburga wished that it were the males who carried their children because she wanted to rip this _mistake, anomaly, disappointment_ out of her womb and throw it to the husband who'd made her keep _it_.

She grew fatter and fatter until she could no longer see her feet and she wanted to _burn_ Orion to a _crisp_ and then finally—

The day came that the little _monster_ was born.

The contractions had begun at midnight, on July 7th, 1954, and didn't stop until midday when a screaming, red-faced little girl was born in St. Mungo's subterranean floor seven, room seven.

It only took half an hour for Reyna's downy black hair to bloom to a deep purple, but Orion would forever remember that she had been born with six little freckles dashed across her perfect little nose.

* * *

Tell me what you think? I've been thinking about this for a while, and I've actually got several? OCs for Harry Potter, so I'm probably going to be focusing on this fandom for a while before I go batshit insane trying to fix the entirety of Naruto.

And yes, I'll definitely be finishing my other stories, but this one takes precedence, at least for a little bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter._

 **Summary:** Reyna Cybele Black did everything she could for her brothers. She wondered, if maybe one day, they would see that too.

 **Status:** Incomplete

 **A/N:** I'm sorry for the tardiness, please stay with me!

* * *

Orion was besotted, which was, in itself, an interesting phenomenon to experience.

If it were any other thing—any other _person_ —Walburga would have smiled; perhaps, she would have even cackled (rather insanely) at the absolute _delight_ she would have felt coursing through her.

Orion had a weakness now, she'd crow, head thrown back, madness crackling in her dark eyes.

Orion wasn't untouchable; and she'd hide that kernel of knowledge away, underneath the bitterness and anger and _rage_ until it was time to use, to exploit it. She would lull him into complacency, into comfort, until he would look at her with soft eyes and a gentle edge to his mouth, and _trust her._

Then, and only then, would she strike.

But it was _not_ any other thing. Any other _person._

It was…the child.

In her opinion, Walburga did not hate everything…quite so much. She disliked, rather strongly at that, and she criticized and scathed and made apparent that which was not acceptable, but she did not _hate._

(Hatred, her mother would sniff, was not _appropriate_ for a lady.)

She was a patient wife, a patient _woman,_ but this child, this _abomination_ was trying that well-worn patience.

Walburga did not even glance upon her child's face when she came out. She did not name that _thing._ She did not breastfeed it, nor did she change it or look after it. She knew regardless, that she would have to present it to society when it was old enough, and that she would have to teach it how to comport itself so that it wouldn't embarrass her in front of their allies, but that was all.

But that would come in time, and until then—the _thing_ was Orion's child—definitely _not_ hers; not a moment sooner.

So why did it frustrate her so that Orion looked upon it with such warmth. She had been passing by the child's room, and she'd heard a cry. Normally, she wouldn't have done anything about it. She would've ordered Kreacher—who was _bursting_ with joy at the newest Black child and doted upon it with a love that bordered on obsession—to take care of it, but for some reason, she stopped and lifted a hand to push inside.

That's when she heard it.

The gentle, deep baritone voice that belonged to her husband, hushing the child to sleep. She had peered in, curiosity ( _'curiosity does not become you, Walburga.'_ She remembered the scolding, _'you are a lady; not a common whore.')_ building up in her until it burst out of her with a startling clarity.

The door barely made a sound as she slipped in, and the sight in front of her took her breath away.

Orion rocked the child in his arms, a crooked, choppy melody slipping from his lips as he crooned to it. The imposing shoulders and severe stance had softened to a hunched over figure. His face was soft, gentle in the light that filtered in through the open window.

The uncompromising mouth, the stoic features, the grim silver eyes; they had all softened. Looking at the child, he was…tender. Affectionate. His silver eyes gleamed with something untouchable. His uncompromising mouth curved at the edges, and the stoic features edging away from the rigidity she was so used to.

" _Go to sleep, little one,"_ Orion sang, barely a hush, " _when you wake, you shall have, all the pretty horses,"_

Something edged its way up her throat, and Walburga blinked, once, twice.

" _Blacks and bays, dapples and greys,"_ she listened, ears stretching, " _go to sleep you little baby,"_

Then she turned away with a _click_ of the door and swept down the hall. No one bothered her the rest of the day, and no one even _dared_ to ask her why her mood was so black.

The child was something that she was still getting used to. The cries at night were hushed by either Kreacher or Orion, but she made no move to stop or interrupt them, even as she lay awake at night and listened to the hushing movements her elf or husband made, pretending not to hear.

It had become an art—to remain so unaffected at the cries of her child.

There was still something inside of her that yearned for that little warmth. That wanted to feel the babe's against her breast, and stroke it's soft downy head, and murmur sweet nothings to it, and calm it's strangled cries.

But Walburga was nothing if not controlled, and so she pushed that part of her deep, deep down, until she could no longer hear its tempting melody.

This one, she knew, was _Orion's_ child.

(And so, Walburga hated.)

~.~

Orion _adored_ her. There was no other way to explain the love and devotion that filled him at the sight of his newborn daughter. The way that she crinkled her nose when she was fussy, the way that she yawned, tiny rosebud mouth stretching, and her eyes creased at the corners; it made the blood rush through his veins, thunder through his head and mind, and he swore that he would protect the little one from anything.

He'd had to name her.

It had been a crushing blow, at first, to ask Walburga, only to realize that she had already left the hospital. At least until he remembered that this was _his_ daughter. That she would have the rest, but this one was _his._

 _Reyna_. It was a name that his Mother had wished to name her own daughter, if she'd had the choice. In Latin, it meant _queen_ , as it did in Spanish; a derivative of _reina._ His little daughter was royalty, of a sort, but Orion wished for her to have a name that she could be proud of. A stunning, noble name that would encompass her entire being, and guide her to become the best of herself.

Reyna, his little queen, was a gentle child. She did not fuss outside the necessary, and she smiled easily, dimples grooving deeper into her cheeks as she beamed up at him. Her hair fluttered from color to color, but her favorite was a bright, electric blue that reminded him of the hottest flame underneath his cauldron.

No matter how much her hair and eyes changed—from silver to blue to green to pink to red—or her skin—from pale to dark brown to black so dark it was blue to tan—she still kept those six little freckles stretching over her snub nose.

It made him smile at the sight, despite the trepidation in his stomach.

A metamorphmagus was something to be proud of, Orion knew. It was a rare and appreciated talent, one that was highly valued. People _dreamed_ of their children being metamorphmagi—it was a surefire way of their children being magical and not filthy, disgusting Squibs.

He'd been overjoyed at his daughter being everything he wished—a High Lady from birth, the majestic features of the Black House already prominent in her ever-changing face. The sculpted cheeks, the curved mouth, they were all unchanging.

But when he'd introduced the new child to the Patriarch, he'd seen the naked spark of needy greed flicker in his unseeing eyes. He had seen the way that Irma and Pollux had begun to scheme, to plan, how his wife's parents looked at their granddaughter and cooed over the accomplishment of pleasing the Ancient and Noble House of Black. He had seen the way Cygnus and Druella looked at Reyna will badly-hidden want.

They'd had another daughter, Narcissa, a quaint fussy little thing, a year younger than little Reyna, and the Patriarch had not been happy.

He did not want anyone using his daughter. No, no, that would _not_ do. She was _his_ child and no one took from Orion Black, not even his own family.

So Orion kept her hidden. He covered her head with the little hats that Kreacher knitted, covered as much of her skin as possible, and made sure that no one would see that she was so talented at such a young age.

Walburga…she did not care about little Reyna and at the viciousness he'd seen pass through her eyes at the sight of her daughter, Orion had no doubt that she'd sell Reyna to the wolves in a heartbeat.

But this was _his_ daughter. _His_ responsibility. So he would take care of her, and teach her all he knew about keeping one's talents hidden, how to be a snake under a flower until the very last moment.

He'd teach his little Reyna how to survive.

Walburga could take care of the rest.

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aoijdoeijdejw i hope you enjoy, sorry for the complete lack of updates, I'm working hard!

hope you like it :)


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